


Between the Stacks

by AkumaStrife



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Library AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 23:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2559743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkumaStrife/pseuds/AkumaStrife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s at the library every tuesday and thursday, noon to four. Copper curls and four inch heels and shiny red lips. When she walks by, Allison smells a hint of strawberry with undertones of hibiscus—it’d taken three weeks to figure it out, three weeks of sitting at the table next to her. Allison always came with the intention of doing homework, sheepishly spreading books and papers out around her, but eventually found her gaze drawn to the other girl; stealing glances at the work that had her mumbling to herself sarcastically, listening to the calls she’d answer regardless if there were scowling librarians around. </p><p>For three weeks Allison sat near her, feeling pathetic as she learned trivial details about her, trying to muster up the courage to introduce herself. And then, at the beginning of the fourth, the girl stands up, looks around, and strides over to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Stacks

She’s at the library every tuesday and thursday, noon to four. Copper curls and four inch heels and shiny red lips. When she walks by, Allison smells a hint of strawberry with undertones of hibiscus—it’d taken three weeks to figure it out, three weeks of sitting at the table next to her. Allison always came with the intention of doing homework, sheepishly spreading books and papers out around her, but eventually found her gaze drawn to the other girl; stealing glances at the work that had her mumbling to herself sarcastically, listening to the calls she’d answer regardless if there were scowling librarians around. 

For three weeks Allison sat near her, feeling pathetic as she learned trivial details about her, trying to muster up the courage to introduce herself. And then, at the beginning of the fourth, the girl stands up, looks around, and strides over to her. 

Allison pretends to be absorbed in her work, only half certain the girl is headed for her at all. She’d been caught staring twice and flushes in embarrassment at the sudden thought that maybe she’d been too obvious and is going to get chewed out. There’s a tap on her shoulder. She looks up, flashing a quick, polite smile. The entirety of the english language escapes her. 

“Are you going to be here for a while?” the girl asks. She leans over, manicured hands braced on the table. 

Allison glances at her, at the girl’s stuff, at the bookshelf near them because she doesn’t really know  _where_ to look. “Uh, yeah.” She nods jerkily.

“Can you watch my stuff?”

“Yeah, of course!” Allison grins wider, looking up into her eyes for the first time. She sounds too eager even in her own ears, but can’t help it as her pulse flutters. 

The girl smiles slowly at her, tilting her head as she straightens. “Thanks.”

As she walks away, Allison dutifully takes out her headphones and angles her chair towards the girl’s table. She likes be useful, likes helping other girls out by watching their stuff or giving directions through the stacks. It’s a bonus when they’re cute. She watches the girl walk away, hooked on the swing of her hips and the way she flicks her hair over her shoulder, determined in whatever she’s doing. People part around her like she exists in a bubble of her own design and control. Except the girl leaned into  _her_ , eased Allison into her space as if it didn’t matter. It matters now, Allison can see that. But for that second, for Allison, personal space was nonexistent. 

The thought derails any chance of studying and she’s barely read a sentence by the time the girl comes back. 

“Thanks,” she says again, easily carrying thick books that look like they should be too heavy. 

“Of course!” Allison repeats, breathless and eager and smiling brightly. She spends the next couple of days replaying the exchange over and over.

The next week when the girl asks her to watch her things, Allison learns her name is Lydia. She says it to herself in the car; writes it in the margins of her notes once or twice before blushing and biting her lip to keep the grin in as she scribbles it out; whispers it desperately in the dark with her face pressed into her pillow and her hands between her legs. 

Except… the next Tuesday Lydia isn’t there. Allison falters as she approaches their empty tables. She shouldn’t be worried about some girl she doesn’t even know, but she is. What if she stops coming? What if something terrible has happened? She wouldn’t even know. 

She sits down in her normal chair and forces herself to do homework. She gets more done than usual without Lydia to distract her, but she’d happily swap out productivity for that honey-sweet voice snapping insults over the phone, for those large eyes to glance at her absently. 

That Thursday Lydia’s table is still empty, but twenty minutes into Allison’s research, a pile of books drop onto the table across from her. She jumps and whips her head up. Lydia smirks back at her. 

“Sorry.” Lydia doesn’t sound sorry. She sits down with a huff, pulling a million and one things out of her purse. 

Allison has to remind herself to breathe. “It’s fine.”

They work for a while. Lydia asks her a question about grammar. Allison grabs her pen before it rolls off the table. They end up chatting about classes and their interests, and Allison listens with rapt attention as Lydia talks about her incompetent peers. Allison mentions the archery club she’s trying to get started. Lydia doesn’t laugh. Lydia arches an eyebrow and makes a thoughtful noise, eyes focused and appraising. It shouldn’t make Allison’s breath hitch and her palms clammy, but the weight of Lydia’s stare is something she feels zip through her nerves. 

“I mean, it’s not very popular as far as sports go,” Allison babbles self-consciously. “But it means a lot to me. My dad’s taught me since I was little and I like, um, it makes me feel capable, y’know? Like I’m not just another weak girl.” 

Lydia cuts her off with a smooth smile and a sharp, “I like a girl who can take care of herself.”

Allison doesn’t say anything, just tries to swallow around the sudden dryness in her throat. Lydia grins in amusement and winks, leaning over her homework again. 

It’s all Allison can think about for days, and it’s becoming a problem how much she obsesses over Lydia, but she’s past the point of caring. Lydia is a mystery wrapped tightly in her perfect skin, and she knows there’s a hell of a lot more going on in that head than Lydia lets on. She’s heard the wicked tongue that hides behind those pretty lips. She’s seen the insane math equations that take up entire pages and Lydia works through without pause. 

The next couple of weeks end up the same. Lydia sits across from her. They work and chat. Sometimes Lydia helps her with her homework. Allison dutifully tries not to stare at her too much. Lydia insists they swap numbers. Allison asks what kind of coffee she drinks, and brings her one the next time they meet. The way Lydia grins and brightly chirps, “I love you, ” makes Allison's head spin.

Lydia’s voice plays on a continuous loop, and Allison can’t focus on her reading long enough to absorb any of it. She tries to fill out a worksheet and comes to ten minutes later with the page still blank, only her name scrawled along the top. She drops her pen, sighs, and rakes her fingers through her hair. She misses the way Lydia watches her.

Lydia stands and walks to the table next to them. She leans on the table, smiling coyly at the boy who doesn’t hide how he’s glancing down her shirt. “Hey, do you mind watching my things?” 

It’s almost a mirror of how Lydia asked her, and Allison’s heart sinks. Watching Lydia’s stuff isn’t some commodity, but she slides down in her chair a little. She thought that maybe they had something, but she waited too long, didn’t make a move when she had plenty of openings. 

She’s wallowing and resolutely filling in the first question on her worksheet, when Lydia leans on the back of her chair, curls tumbling over both of their shoulders. 

“I’m going to the physics section. I might be a while…” Lydia says, “depends on how long it takes me to find the right book.” 

Allison watches her sashay off wordlessly. And then her brain gets with the program and she hurries out of her chair and follows. She finds Lydia in a back aisle, smirking at her with an arched eyebrow. Some of the books have dust on them, and the quiet sounds of the library and the children’s section downstairs is muffled. 

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

“Everyone’s dumb compared to you,” Allison says, backing her against a shelf. 

“True.”

Lydia tastes like coffee and artificial strawberries, and Allison feels bad for that poor boy watching their stuff. Almost. 


End file.
